


the milk is going sour

by robinsegg



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, the best thing i will ever post, this is my best fic, yall are gonna love the characterization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 06:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9706937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinsegg/pseuds/robinsegg
Summary: Enjolras and Grantaire get together.





	

**Author's Note:**

> no hate pls!!!!!!!!!!!1!
> 
> lol this is a joke i promise i'm a better writer than this
> 
> i hate white enjolras (i also hate white ppl in general but thats another topic)
> 
> anyway the white savior trope can die and black enjolras is canon

Enjolras. Was there a name so sweet? Grantaire didn’t think so, looking at the pasty white boy in front of him. His skin was an almost sickly shade of white, some might say it ghostly, and his hair was almost transparent, it was so blond. He sighed. Grantaire wasn’t paying much attention to what Enjolras was saying, looking more at his beautiful, extremely thin lips. Then, Grantaire locked eyes with Enjolras, his limpid pale eyes looking sickly and sad. Would this milky god ever look at him as more than a friend, if even that?

After an hour of Les Amis droning on about things that Grantaire didn’t care about, interrupted by his stunning commentary, the meeting was officially over, and Grantaire breathed a sigh of relief. His friends were wonderful, but he hated these meetings with a passion, such as what Enjolras felt for revolution. Grantaire had made many jokes about Enjolras fucking the French flag, but to no avail- for some unknown reason, he didn’t seem to find it funny! Maybe beautiful milky ass white boys such as he weren’t made for humor.

Grantaire smiled. Of course Enjolras wasn’t made for humor- a porcelain, marble, statue-esque figure like him was made to be looked at and venerated, not talked to like an actual human being. But despite all of his beauties, Grantaire often found him looking sickly and extremely pale, even for a white person.

His thoughts were soon interrupted by someone’s throat clearing. Grantaire looked up to see Enjolras, the man, the myth, the legend. He told him so.

“Ah, the man, the myth, the legend himself! What is a god such as yourself doing among us mere mortals? You don’t blend in much, what with your ethereal beauty and fair features. Why, you could be the moon in disguise! Or an invalid. Goes both ways, really.” Grantaire smiled, before taking a sip of water. “Now, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“May I speak to you outside, please? It’s somewhat urgent and cannot wait.” Enjolras looked slightly strained. He wondered if he was actually sick for once, instead of just looking it. God knows Joly always fussed over him.

“But of course! Shall we?” Enjolras didn’t respond, just hurried out the door.

Once the two of them were both outside, Grantaire looked expectantly at Enjolras. That wasn’t very hard, seeing as he was like a bright white light in the darkness leading moths to their untimely demise.

“I’m super gay for you.” Enjolras said suddenly. Grantaire gaped for a moment. Then he surged forward and kissed him. It was really gay.

Grantaire pulled back, looking at the white boy who could be compared to an egg. God, what a beautiful egg he was in the presence of. Grantaire was so lucky, to be even near such stale white bread. He was in love.


End file.
